Just spilled my Coke on Hunter S. Thompson.
I think he’d have been happier about it if it weren’t Diet Coke. Hell with it. I’m here to tell the truth, not change things around to benefit a single perfect line. Even if it’s a line of Coke.
Got the Mojo Wire wet too, but it still works fine. Of course. Unstoppable little beast.
It’s well and truly morning, and the Mojo Wire is screaming for more words that I simply don’t have.
Yes, I call my laptop “the Mojo Wire”. Hunter S. Thompson traveled with a primitive Xerox fax machine and a typewriter; me, I’ve got a combination word processing and research node more powerful than what was used to put man on the moon and I’m using it to help make sense of politicians. Humanity is doomed.
Today it’s Biden, the Klob, and Mayor Pete, who I’m told I can no longer call Stepford because there are gay people in the movie remake. And here I was thinking about the Ira Levin book and had no idea about gayness or films. Ah well; I’m used to being oblivious. Fuckit.
I’d be happier if Bidet weren’t first. –Heh. Just read that. Must have been actually thinking of “Bidet”; T is nowhere near N so it’s not a natural typo. I think I’ll keep it. Anyway.– If he were at the end of the day, I could skip him in good conscience. I have absolutely zero curiosity about Uncle Joe.
Don’t get me wrong: I love Biden the man. He never touches alcohol, never personally takes a bribe, and would do anything for his family. His only objection to the Diamond Joe tales in The Onion is a correction that, in reality, he’s a Corvette fan. He gets creepy close because he’s too vain to wear bifocals and a hearing aid. Heck, his combover shows a vanity greater and more futile than even The Donald’s. But in Uncle Joe’s case, his failings show him as more human, more vulnerable, and somehow almost lovable.
For a politician, that is.
And he’s still sharp. I’ve got a question for him that I know I won’t get to ask (they jealously guard the questions for the professionals specifically to weed out people like me) about the soon-to-be-released interest rate numbers, and I know he’d field it perfectly. His mind works fine most of the time and his reflexes are as good as ever (which, given that this is Uncle Joe, isn’t all that good, but still). He’s like a septuagenarian Ted Williams tossing out the first ball of the season and making the catcher’s hand sting through the glove.
But I already know all that without the bother of going to see him. And I know beyond any doubt at all that a Biden/Trump matchup would be ridiculously one-sided; Biden’s never in his life been in Trump’s league. (Which isn’t even baseball; Trump plays sumo mud wrestling or some such shit.) Uncle Joe’s always been second-rate as a politician: perfect for the legislature, but fighting way above his weight in the primaries. Even under Obama he was barely competent… which made him the perfect choice for an insecure office-holder. He was excellent insurance against assassination, the ideal Vice President.
But Biden comes first (and without the courtesy of a reacharound), then Amy, then Pete the Stepford. Or Pod Person, maybe. The Smiler. God help us, the only one worth even my time is Amy the Klob, and she’s polling in single digits.
Lord help us all, what am I even doing here? **sigh**
More words when I’ve got them, people. Send money and caffeine; I’ll do my part.